Themes and Variations/A Complaint

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A COMPLAINT.

Ah! how is this? When we were young
 Time paid our daily wage in gold
Some silver coins—his mark a scythe—
 He gives us now we’re growing old.
And soon, alas! our copper pence
 Too scant’ly will be doled.

But, Time, I’ll yet be even with thee,
 Though thou art rich, and I am poor.
These shining coins of thine I’ll change
 For wheaten thought; and honeyed store
Of music; and for hopes divine—
 Gems with the sparkle of another shore.

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